A Flash Of Love
by F. Scott Fitzgerald
Summary: A normal chase ends with a horrible tragedy.


A Flash of Love

Flashes of his coat were visible every now and then but other than that John had to go on intuition to know where to go. Silently cursing himself for not studying that map at home more carefully he tried to follow the faint sound of footsteps on slippery concrete which was very hard considering he was surrounded by a vast maze of London's back roads. There. And off he was again chasing after the flicker of dark coat that had slid past a corner. Raggedly breathing he hurtled into an open four way crossing and heard the bang of gunshot. _Duck. Run. Duck. RUN! _As he made it across to the safety of the next road he was suddenly stopped by an outstretched arm.

"Shhh." Whispered a grinning Sherlock.

"What the hell? Why aren't you chasing him?" John said looking up at his friends face.

"Wait." He breathed into his ear. And as suddenly as Sherlock had appeared he was launching himself out into the crossing grabbing the man who had followed John.

"Now, here we are." He said, holding his prisoner by the collar and grinning at John. "We know you're under orders and it would be much easier for everyone if you just told us who ordered you to kill that woman."

"Fuck you." The man said with malice in his eyes. "I was paid to keep quiet."

"Yes, but by whom?" Sherlock said annoyed with the most common answer any criminal has ever said.

"I'm not telling you." He said.

"Tell us." John said raising his gun.

"No." he said with a challenging glare. "Look, I know how this is going to end. I'll say no. You'll shoot and I'll finally tell you. I'll just save you the bullet. But I'm taking one of you with me."

_FUCK._

Most people think getting shot is an immediate feeling, but right at that moment John knew what was coming, he had been shot before, and now his body seemed to know the pain was coming and shut off all the feeling in his body. He knew that when he got shot before he wasn't going to die but still out there on the front lines his life did flash before his eyes. It was mostly loneliness and boring events but now all he saw was Sherlock's face looming over him. The moonlight hitting his face just right that he looked like an angel. He heard the thump of the other man fall dead, he probably had shot himself in the head instead of the stomach where he shot John.

"John, no stop. You can't do this to me. You have to live." Sherlock said, the mask that usually hid his emotions gone and anyone could have easily seen the anguish behind those normally calm eyes.

_Breathe. _"Sherlock." _Breathe. _"Sherlock." _Breathe. _"It's fine, I'm." _Breathe. _"not fine." John managed to say. "Get help." He gasped. Looking down John knew that he would never recover from a shot like this. Pressing his hand to his stomach he pushed applying as much pressure as he could. "Call, call someone" He said not even able to focus on a simple sentence. _Sherlock. Sherlock. Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes will save me. _Seeing less and less of that angelic face, John was aware of only two things. The sirens that were getting closer every second and that Sherlock was crying. Sherlock. Never. Cried.

_Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. This is all my fault. Why the fuck did I have John fucking Watson come with me. Why the fuck did we even have to meet. What the fuck just happened. I can't fucking believe it._

"WHY THE FUCK DID IT HAVE TO BE HIM!" Sherlock screamed to the entire emergency room. Aware of all eyes on him he started to pace around muttering under his breath different scenarios in which he was the one to be shot and not John.

"Freak." He heard from one corner of the room. Tired of the ridicule and waiting he stormed through the doors into the main center of the ER.

"I'm looking for John Watson, he was brought in here twenty minutes ago and I must see him." Sherlock said to the nearest nurse.

"Umm, sir you should wait in the waiting area." She said immediately ushering him towards the doors. But seeing as Sherlock was determined, upset, and really very tall she couldn't get him to move.

"I'm not leaving. Take me to him. Now." He said, his voice so commanding that the nurse just handed him the clipboard.

"Thank you." He said. Quickly running his finger down the list he found John's room, in the ICU, and started off in a sprint to the lift.

Rapidly pushing the up button he was aware of every second that was passing. _One more second without John. Stop, he'll be fine._

The world was cracked. No not cracked. _Frosted. _The world was frosted. Through this frosted world John could see Sherlock hunched over on a sleeping Mrs. Hudson. He wasn't sleeping, he never slept. But he never cried either and John could remember a fragmented moment in which tears were indeed coming from Sherlock's eyes. But it wasn't frosted. It was a window pain, frosted to keep John away from prying eyes. He didn't know if it was for his benefit or for others. There were those who didn't want to see the pain of others, just were going to see their loved ones, the crying family and friends outside were enough.

"Sherlock." He breathed.

"Sherlock!" He croaked

"SHERLOCK" He cried hoarsely.

With a bang the door opened and he was next to John.

"You've been crying. Stop." John said, knowing that crying was a big deal.

"It's okay, John-"

"Stop lying to me, I'm a doctor. I know I'm dying." John said breathless. "Stay here."

"John people want to see you. I can't be in here they want to say. Well, never mind." He said, his voice hitching.

"They want to say goodbye." John said. "I don't care, you are staying here." Grasping Sherlock's hand with his left, he realized that it wasn't shaking. He was calm, even now.

The rest should have been vivid to John, as he was seeing his family and friends for the last time before death, but it was just a blur. Sherlock was a fixed point in this blur with everything changing around him.

"We have him on support but he's going. Give him half an hour or less." A doctor said to Sherlock.

Without getting a response he left the room leaving Sherlock and John alone at last.

"I, I love you." Sherlock said.

"Quite right too. And I suppose, if it's my last chance to say it: Sherlock Holmes…" John muttered.

"You idiot, that's from Doctor Who." Sherlock said, smiling in spite of himself.

"No, I love you too." John said. " I had my will changed last month, you get all my notes and all of the books, and oh whatever you want. Sherlock, I can't, I can't breathe." John was gasping now.

Crying silently, Sherlock could only watch as his friend and love passed into unconsciousness and soon death.

"I'm so glad we met. You have no idea, I would be dead if you hadn't shown up here in London." Sherlock said, gathering up his coat. Slowly leaning over John's body that was losing warmth and life he pushed his lips against Johns' and finally kissed the man he had been in love with since the day he had first shot that cabbie.

Once again the coat of Sherlock Holmes flashed around a corner and was gone. Walking down a new labyrinth of corridors Mr. Holmes had to face the worst thing he would ever meet.

Loss.


End file.
